


Draw So Close To The Heat

by TenWoolf



Series: TW Femslash 2017 [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: F/F, Seven Minutes In Heaven, Weed, only small use of prose, seven minutes is 420 seconds is that great or what
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:25:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9527678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TenWoolf/pseuds/TenWoolf
Summary: Scott guided them gently by the hand, impish in the the heavy cloak of smoke that followed him. With his lighter he set fire to the tip of the joint and took a hit, letting it radiate through him before passing it to Allison.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've never blazed but I couldn't pass up the chance to use a 420 joke.
> 
> This is for TW FemSlash and today was fave ship woohoo. ~[Check out the other works](http://twfemslash.tumblr.com/)~

Scott liked to do this thing, something he thought was really clever, when there was a good calm bender weekend at his and Stiles' apartment. Nobody really agreed to it until he put in the clever part.

Ro Sham Bo between a group of five, get them down to two winners, stick them in the closet for seven minutes.

  
They made fun of him at first. Rightly so, it was juvenile and boring. Nobody really wanted to get riled up and then awkwardly sit in a darkened closet with some dubious intention.

So Scott made in interesting. "Seven minutes is four hundred and twenty seconds. So winners get to share a joint in the hall closet. Somethin' happens then it happens. If it doesn't then they just get high. Bonding experience or some soul searching shit."

  
The prospect was sweetened with his better stash if he was playing match maker, a fact only told offhandedly to Allison and Stiles. He was first and foremost a romantic.

  
It's how he got Erica and Boyd to bite the bullet. They duked it out with fists against palms, tied with rock and not letting the irony get lost among rampant cheers as they disappeared in to the closet. Ten minutes came and went, the door shut respectively with laughter oozing out from under the frame. Nobody disagreed when Scott said they should get left alone.

  
It became a tradition that didn't die off, instilled in the lore of the apartment. When it happened in the spur of the moment it was thanks to Stiles. When it happened with purpose it was because of Scott.  
So when he suggested it that night nobody disagreed. How could they after he flaunted a joint kept safe in a little soft linen bag? It was only tradition.

  
In his tint of calm and glazed eyes, he picked five players. A few had things in common, two of shared a piece of his life in the past.

  
Five became four and then muddled to two. Just the whine of loss and then Kira and Allison standing together.

  
Scott guided them gently by the hand, impish in the heavy cloak of smoke that followed him. With his lighter he set fire to the tip of the joint and took a hit, letting it radiate through him before passing it to Allison.

He winked, although it just looked like he was squinting, and said, "Blue Moon, good stuff."

  
Allison knew it was his favorite. A blend he didn’t treat like a party favor but, instead, a possession. When she took it she did so with a respect for it.

  
She remembered when they use to kiss for the fire that settled in the put of her belly, smoldering when they were apart. Now there was fire in how they talked about other people. Someone who caught her eye or someone who Scott had slept with and fallen for in an flash of passion.

  
Kira was that for both of them, albeit in different narratives.

Scott had dated her in high school, their awkward presence and laughable habits complimenting like Christmas colors.

It took a long time for Allison to admit it, that a girl she had that in common with was racing around in her head. But she did admit it to Scott, drunk on malt liquor and games of Mario Kart a weekend ago. She spent that last Saturday with the intention of hooking up but instead, in turns, they spoke about Kira.

And this was what resulted. He passed over his blessing in an exhale of smoke.

Scott shut the door behind them as Allison and Kira squished flush to boxes and hung coats. Allison didn't know where to put her free hand, hovering on Kira's shoulder from what she could see in the diminished light. Then she felt palms on her own hips and the gesture was calming.

"You ok?" Kira asked.

Allison was hesitant to speak, the closeness took her breath apart, but she said yes, yes she was fine.

Kira took the joint from Allison's slack grip and brought it between her own teeth. The smell of her taking a drag numbed the silence and the ember blazed like some far off beckoning star with her breath.

It made Allison put her hands on Kira's neck, put her thumbs in the curve under her jaw. And when the fingers of her left hand wandered to Kira's chin, she surprised even herself, saying, "Open up."

She could only see the minute flash of coyness in Kira's eyes, a spark of static in the space of her corneas, but the passing second spoke volumes. The burning curiosity that flickered like the fire in Allison's belly ignited in Kira's eyes.

Allison felt the drop of Kira's lips and the way her grip collapsed so she was just holding Kira's jaw, safe and steady.

Out came smoke, on wet sheets of sluggish fog that fell like a curtain from her mouth. She blew it upward in a gentle plunge that Allison took at an inhale. Kira followed at a chase, the few inches up and the few inches closer. Allison's lip caught in between her teeth, firefly catching another light.


End file.
